


He Shoots, He Scores

by justrae2010



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Ballet, Football | Soccer, Long-Haired Victor Nikiforov, M/M, Phichit Chulanont Uses Instagram, Shy Katsuki Yuuri, Social Media, Sports
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-05
Updated: 2018-04-05
Packaged: 2019-04-18 22:19:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14223003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justrae2010/pseuds/justrae2010
Summary: “It’s no joke, Yuuri.” Phichit said, straightening back off him with a steadying hand on his hip. “Next week’s match is against Michigan Misfits.” A hand clapped down on his shoulder. “Good luck, buddy.”Yuuri felt the floor fall out from underneath him.It wasn’t the Michigan Misfits so much that bothered him. Well, it was - but more specifically it was their star striker.Victor Nikiforov._College football AU for YOI Sports Week.





	He Shoots, He Scores

“Oh my God….Phichit, tell me this is a joke.”

Yuuri stared at the announcement board with round horrified eyes, fingers slack around the strap of his gym back. He barely heard when it dropped, thudding down behind him.

What he did feel though was the press of his best friend’s chin tucking over his shoulder, peering at the notice with his blatant disregard for personal boundaries. It was both the reason Yuuri loved him and the reason his blood pressure was constantly on dangerous levels for a nineteen year old.

The name that glared out at him from the paper stuck to the wall didn’t do anything to help, each letter punching the air out of Yuuri’s chest a little more.

“It’s no joke, Yuuri.” Phichit said, straightening back off him with a steadying hand on his hip. “Next week’s match is against Michigan Misfits.” A hand clapped down on his shoulder. “Good luck, buddy.”

Yuuri felt the floor fall out from underneath him.

It wasn’t the Michigan Misfits so much that bothered him. Well, it was - but more specifically it was their star striker.

Victor Nikiforov.

The man who flew down the soccer pitch in a dash of silver from his long platinum locks, who rolled with the ball so smoothly it was like he was bending it with his mind, whose ability to connect ball to the back of the net was seamless it was honestly scary. And Yuuri had to play against him next Saturday.

He gulped.

It didn’t help that the whole school knew he had a crush on the guy.

Yuuri wasn’t even sure how it had gotten out, but he was pretty sure his Insta-happy best friend had something to do with it. And the explosion of Victor Nikiforov posters he’d rigged in Yuuri’s locker on the day of one of the frat house’s midterm parties. With a face full of Victor and swarms of drunken adolescents congregating in small, sweaty houses where secrets were so easily shared, it was no wonder the rumour spread. Especially when the Misfits themselves had crashed the party! Yuuri had gotten so drunk he’d blacked out, drowning the shame of not even being able to  _ look  _ at Victor, let alone  _ speak  _ to him.

Yuuri had thought that was the lowest point his life could get to, and had walked back into the new term with his self-esteem trailing on the ground behind him and the sound knowledge that things couldn’t possibly get any worse.

Until they did.

Until now.

Yuuri groaned hard into his hands, cheeks hot to the touch. It was official - he was absolutely going to die.

The next week was a disaster.

He couldn’t stop thinking about the upcoming match. It would be a home game for them, Victor’s team travelling to them from across the city and giving them the home advantage - not that it would mean anything. Yuuri’s team would be lost before they even hit the pitch. Michigan Misfits had ruled the college soccer league for the last five consecutive years, and with Victor on their team, they showed no signs of slowing.

Victor was just the perfect player. He had the drive, the attitude, the smarts, and the physique a coach would die for. He was light on his feet and fast, body slim but lined with strong lean muscle. It served him well.

Yuuri was jealous.

The second helping he had at lunch probably didn’t help his game, but he didn’t care. He was a stress eater. Something his team mates relentlessly teased him about.

He bet that Victor wasn’t like that. Yuuri had seen Victor laugh with his teammates, heard he worked harder than any other player his coach had ever tutored. He believed it too. Every inch of Victor’s body was sculpted by cold, hard work. His shoulders were broad, and his waist was slim - perfect for ducking around defenders like Yuuri trying to block his advance to the goal. His legs were strong and nimble, socks painted on his strong calves and shorts tight around his thighs thick with muscle, stretched over the swell of his ass-

“Mr Katsuki, your attention please!”

Yuuri blinked, jolting hard.

The chair legs of his desk squeaked against the floor while chuckles and sniggers trickled slowly into his ear. Students stared. Grins hid behind hands. A cell phone clicked, taking a picture.

_ Oh shit. _

Yuuri straightened up, lifting his cheek off his fist braced on the desktop. The corner of his mouth felt wet. Was he drooling?  _ Oh shit  _ \- please say he hadn’t been talking in his sleep in the middle of Calculus while dreaming about Victor Nikiforov’s ass. Please, please, please, that would  _ not  _ be ideal -

“Covalent bonds,” he blurted, panicking.

The class laughed louder.

Yuuri just face palmed - damn, he didn’t even have the right  _ subject _ . It was going to be the longest week of his life.

 

* * *

 

“I’m just saying, control social media before social media controls you. It’s a relationship, like any other. You want to start off with a nice friendship - which is where you are, by the way - how’s the friend zone? Hang out occasionally, connect at social events - but you don’t miss it when the coffee’s done. Then it gets deeper. You spend more time together. Its parent approved. First kiss is like when you first update your profile picture for the first time in a zillion years. Then you move in together. Start to get familiar with each other’s personal habits, you just _ know  _ everything, the last thing you think about when you fall asleep and the first thing you see when you wake up. That kind of thing, you know? A steady build up. The last thing you want is a whirlwind romance. A dangerous thing with social media. Too much too soon, makes you obsessive, makes you a stalker, pushes you away from your friends...it’s just bad. Don’t do it, Yuuri - but for the love of God,  _ please  _ get out of the friend zone before Instagram just rocks up in your dorm bed one night stark naked like Devon Matthews because you didn’t notice his subtle flirting enough before. You understand, Yuuri?”

A bead of sweat rolled over Yuuri’s eyebrow and he blinked furiously, drop of moisture flicking off his eyelashes. His head shook.

“One thing I don’t understand,” he just gasped. “Is how you can talk so much and still run so fast.”

His lungs were on fire, muscles in his legs screaming for rest. It was every sign that he desperately needed this run with Phichit and needed to do it more often, but in the meantime, he felt like he was literally dying.

And Phichit’s not so subtle digging wasn’t exactly helping.

“What would I even post?” Yuuri said, as they rounded the corner of the dog park for another lap. “I don’t exactly lead an exciting life.”

“Okay, I’ll try not to take offence at that.”

It was a nice day out. The dog park was peaceful and quiet, pensioners sat on the benches with their little terrier dogs and children lined up along the railing of the lake throwing pieces of bread to the duck. The air was cold and crisp, but soothing against Yuuri’s flushed skin, heat pumping from his red face with every step that pounded the pathway.

He just groaned miserably.

And mercifully, so did his phone.

Yuuri staggered to a halt at the hour alarm beeping from his pocket, promptly doubling over and huffing for breath. He really needed to get in better shape for the match against the Misfits. He bet that Victor didn’t struggle like he did.

He couldn’t think about Victor though - all he could think about was breathing. In and out, in and out; each lungful burning and soothing at the same time. It was torture - but it was all his fault. He had been lazy this season until the prospect of playing against Victor had given him the motivation to finally get off his ass.

“Just take a selfie every now and then,” Phichit went on beside him, arms stretched over his head. How was he not out of breath? “That’s what everyone else does.”

“I’m not-”  _ gasp…“- _ like everyone else.”

_ I’m shorter,  _ Yuuri added in his head,  _ and fatter, and quieter, and duller, and uglier, and dumber, and less popular, and- _

“Come on, Yuuri, smile!”

Yuuri glanced up just in time to hear the  _ click  _ of the iPhone camera and see the outline of Phichit’s phone against the bright wintry sunlight. His heart dropped into his stomach in horror.

“P-Phichit!”

Phichit just laughed at the phone screen, fingers already tapping.

“What-what are you doing?!”

Yuuri couldn’t believe it. He bet he looked horrible, all red and sweaty, in his ugly loose shirt that didn’t cling to his rolls of chub but also didn’t exactly give him any other flattering shapes to work with - and now Phichit had photo evidence of it, a mischievous smile on his face.

“You want to see?” Phichit winked down to Yuuri, tapping his phone against his best friend's nose playfully. “Get an Insta account.”

 

* * *

 

_**phichit+chu** added 1 new photo. _

_ [image] _

_ Morning run with the bestie! #misfitsbetterwatchit _

_ Liked by  **christophe-gc** and 247 others _

_ 59 minutes ago _

 

* * *

 

Yuuri stared with absolute horror at his phone screen, wishing that the ground would open up and swallow him whole.

He’d made an account. He’d seen the picture. And he hated it even more than he thought he would. Phichit looked fine, rosy cheeked and smiling - while Yuuri doubled over in the picture, glancing up with sweaty glittering off his forehead, and hair stuck to the side of his face, and cheeks red, and his shirt wet with sweat patches… he was never going to live it down.

The worst bit was that most of the likes were his classmates. Everyone had seen what a slob he was, how unfit he was.

What if his coach saw and benched him from the soccer team? Phichit hadn’t exactly posted their running time to justify Yuuri’s less than dignified state of fitness. If Coach Celestino saw this and thought Yuuri was struggling, he could pull him from the match on Saturday and the only thing worse than playing against Victor was watching his team play against Victor from the benches.

And -  _ oh God! - _ Victor had liked Phichit’s photo.

Yuuri wanted to die. He would recognise that face anywhere, even wedged in a tiny box next to the handle  **v-nikiforov** , a splash of silver amongst crystal blue eyes.

Now he knew exactly how lame Yuuri was.

Of course, Victor’s profile picture was better than Yuuri’s. The only photo Yuuri had been able to find for setting up his new Instagram account was the formal one he’d taken for his college application, all stiff smiles and neat hair. Whereas Victor’s was wild and natural, smile wide and eyes bright with joy while his silver hair spilled out over his shoulders.

Yuuri could have looked at it all day; it was beautiful. Everything about him was beautiful, Yuuri rediscovered as he clicked onto Victor’s profile for himself. His face was flawless, his technique textbook, form full of poise and-

Yuuri’s breath caught.

_ Holy shit, did Victor have a dog? _

The photo was tagged from St Petersburg, Victor’s face smushed up in an unfairly ugly yet still pretty expression, sharing the closeup selfie with a poodle lapping at his cheek.

Yuuri’s eyes glowed round. He couldn’t help it. He loved dogs. Maybe a little too much - but was it even a thing to like dogs too much? Yuuri decided not. They didn’t laugh at him, or judge him, or worry about things. They were just cute and loving, and everything that Yuuri wanted out of life.

He double clicked on the picture to zoom in, to get a closer look.

Little red hearts fluttered over the screen instead.

Yuuri’s heart stopped.  _ Shit,  _ had he just… oh God, he had - he’d liked the photo! He tried to remember how to breathe, feeling his heartbeat rock up inside his chest.  _ Calm down,  _ he tried to tell himself, brain not functioning clearly enough to fully melt down just yet.  _ It’s not that bad. It’s not like it’s an old- _

His eyes dropped down to the date on the photo.

It was over a year ago.

Yuuri slapped the phone face down on the counter, folded his arms and buried his face into them, groaning hard. This was exactly why he shouldn’t be trusted with anything related to social media.

 

* * *

 

The next morning, Phichit was in stitches.

“I can’t believe you did that!” he gasped between giggles, doubled over with his arm wrapped around his middle. “I mean, of all people in the world, and you - you picked-”

“I know, okay…”

Yuuri tried to keep the irritated growl out of his voice, trying to think grace and poise as he pushed his leg up into a grand battement, leg lifting high in front of him. It felt stiff - not graceful. He tried not to be too annoyed. It was difficult though. His hand was tight on the barre and he could see Phichit laughing across the dance studio out of the corner of his eye, putting him off.

“Relax, Yuuri,” Phichit said, when his giggle finally subsided. “I bet he won’t even notice. It happens all the time.”

Yuuri paused. “Would you notice?”

The silence stretched on for a beat too long to be casual.

“Okay, I would,” Phichit finally conceded. “But maybe it’s not a bad thing. At least he’ll finally notice you.”

“I didn’t exactly want him to notice me like this.”

Yuuri pushed out a deep breath as he bent his knees in a deep plie, forcing his mind back to his body. Dance he could understand.

Ballet and poise, he knew well.

_ People _ however…

“You still haven’t posted anything yet.”

Yuuri just shrugged, legs straightening underneath him. “I haven’t done anything worth taking a photo of.”

Another pause.

“I mean, do you not see what you’re literally doing right now?!”

Yuuri froze where he stood, and blinked at his reflection in the mirror. He was stood tall with his arm extended to his side, his leg lifted back high behind him as tall as his shoulder. This time, it felt better. He sighed out at the stretch, breathing life into the battement.

“Er,” Yuuri brought his leg down, feet closing into third position. “I guess-”

“Yuuri, you’re incredible!” Phichit said, pushing to his feet with phone in hand - Yuuri’s phone. “ _ Please _ , let me post this for you.”

Yuuri’s eyes just rolled.

Then, he sighed. “Fine, I mean…” he sighed again.

“Just fine.”

Yuuri pulled his leg back up behind him until he started to really feel the pull of the stretch, his arm extended to his side and his eyes cast back over his shoulder to the far corner of the dance studio.

 

* * *

 

_**yuuri_kat** added 1 new photo. _

_ [image] _

_ He’s beauty and he’s grace #ballet _

_ Liked by  **phichit+chu** and 12 others _

_ 1 minute ago _

 

* * *

 

The next morning, Yuuri woke up to two new notifications from Instagram.

**_v-nikiforov_ ** _ liked your post. _

**_v-nikiforov_ ** _ started following you. _

 

* * *

 

“I have a new problem.”

Yuuri tried to keep his voice level as he flickered his eyes over the space of the goal in front of him, Phichit’s frame pitifully small under the thick white post. Yuuri knew that didn’t matter though. Tall or not, the boy could  _ move _ if he wanted to.

The goalie’s sharp grey eyes never left the ball at Yuuri’s feet. “Shoot.”

Yuuri wasn’t sure if he meant the problem or the ball.

Either way, he stepped back a few paces, lining up the perfect path for the top left corner. The left side was Phichit’s weakest.

Yuuri took a deep breath, bracing himself. His muscles tensed ready, envisioning every step, every run-up to the ball and how it would fly through the air, the light rush of air he would hear as it hit the back of the net -

“Victor Nikiforov liked my photo.”

The words rushed out of his lungs just as fast as his feet pounded into the pitch. Each sound was hard and fast - blunt against the cold hardened ground - but it was nothing compared to the solid thud as the side of his boot connected with the soccer ball, launching it into the air. It was textbook. Soaring smooth, cutting a clean, perfect arch through the air, right towards the top left corner.

Until Phichit plucked it out of the air.

Yuuri had barely even seen it. He just blinked dumbly where he stood with the frown digging into his brow, still drinking in the sight of Phichit cradling the ball at his hip and the very distinct way that it  _ was not  _ in the back of the net like Yuuri had wanted.

He was pouting before he could help it, shoulders slumping. “H-how did-”

“You’re gonna have to be better than that to beat the Misfits, Yuuri!”

Yuuri jumped.

He twisted round so sharply he felt the muscles in the back of his shoulders strain in protest, his lower half following the rest of him just a fraction too late. His legs felt numb and clumsy, coltish like Bambi. What was wrong with him?

It was only Takeshi and Yuuko.

Just as he had been expecting.

It was their routine - every Wednesday, soccer in the park, with whoever might be free for a kick around. Phichit and Yuuri were always game. Yuuko and Takeshi were regulars too, even though they went to different schools. Nobody cared. In the park, it wasn’t a sport. It wasn’t competition, or pressured, it didn’t matter what badge was on your shirt or what colours were stitched into your socks. It was just… fun.

Yuuri had almost forgotten what that had felt like. His shoulders slumped with his sigh, feeling his muscles ache with it.

“What’s so special about them again?” Takeshi asked as he unzipped his hoodie, rolling his shoulders loose and stretching out his muscles.

“They’re all ridiculous.” Yuuri muttered under his breath.

From the goal, Phichit just laughed.

“They’re, like, this school for the elite,” he said, tossing Yuuri his water bottle from the base of the goal post. “Students are almost all international, rich, smart, talented… it’s actually a pretty decent school academically, but it’s just got this dodgy reputation for being kind of rigged for only the real hot shots to get in.”

“Hot shots like Victor Nikiforov,” Yuuko nudged playfully in Yuuri’s ribs as she passed, winking. She was the Captain of her girls school’s soccer team. “Huh, Yuuri?”

Yuuri choked on his water.

 

* * *

 

The next day, he went back to the studio. Ballet helped stretch out the humiliation of the thrashing Yuuko and Takeshi had given him and Phichit, only made worse when Leo and Guang Hong had joined in on the game to take on Yuuri and Phichit four on two. Yuuri sighed heavily into his warm down stretch, body folded in half on the floor.

If they couldn’t even win against their friends, how they hell were they supposed to win against the Michigan Misfits on Saturday?

The chances were bleak.

It was a depressing thought, one that pushed down heavily on his newly slumping shoulders all over again, suddenly feeling just as tense as when he’d first stepped into the studio two hours earlier. It had all been for nothing. Yuuri just slung his backpack over his shoulder, head hanging in disappointment.

He didn’t know what he was going to do.

Behind him, he heard the creak of the door open. The pole dancing class. He was running into their time.

He span around ready to hightail out of there, apology already on the tip of his tongue.

“Sorry, I’m just-”

His bag hit the floor less than a second later, his jaw with it. The last scraps of his dignity weren’t far behind.

Victor Nikiforov stood in the doorway.

“-leaving...”

_ Oh no. _

Their eyes met effortlessly.

Yuuri felt the blood drain from his face and the plummet of his heart into his stomach. It took all of his willpower to actually remember to close his mouth once he was done talking.

Victor was perfect. Yuuri had always known it, but to see it for himself - up close! - was even better. His long silver hair was twisted back into a loose bun at the top of his head, a smattering of faint brown freckles dancing over his cheekbones, and firm lines cutting out the muscles in his stomach that his black crop top left for all the world to see. His black leggings hugged his lower body, tight and leaving little to the imagination.

Yuuri tried not to stare - something that proved impossible though as a smooth smile slowly spread over Victor’s lips. It was beautiful. Like a butterfly unfurling its wings. A flower coming into bloom. A supernova bursting in an explosion of light-

“W-what are you doing here?” slipped out of Yuuri’s mouth, bypassing his brain altogether. Yuuri heard them the same time as Victor did.

And he  _ hated  _ himself for saying them.

Victor didn’t thought - his smile just widened, something Yuuri didn’t dare linger on sparkling mischievously in his eyes.

“Christophe Giacometti - you know, our midfielder? - well, he runs the pole dancing class here on the side,” Victor explained flawlessly, shrugging the bag at his shoulder. The movement rolled his shoulders, rippled down his torso so the tight muscles of his stomach flexed, and- “And he convinced me to give it a shot.”

Yuuri tried to remember how words worked.

“Oh, well, um-”

He was hopeless. Useless. Done for. He couldn’t even talk around Victor, let alone play soccer against him on Saturday.

Yuuri swallowed hard, and tried again. “It’s supposed to be a good workout.”

A touch squeaky, but it would do. It was his first coherent sentence in Victor’s presence. That had to have earned him a drink at the local bar. Or three hundred. Whatever it took to drown out the humiliation that was no doubt burned so deeply into his bones that he’d never emerge anything but red faced ever again.

Victor wasn’t helping; his forearm braced against the doorframe, arch of his waist on sinful display and eyes glittering darkly. “You think I’ll be any good, Yuuri?”

“Oh, I-”

“It always looks so  _ hard. _ ”

“Um, well I guess with practise-”

“And I suppose you have to be really  _ firm  _ with it, you know?”

“I-I-”

“Plus, I’m sure I’ve heard you have to be really careful about things getting  _ wet _ . I mean, the pole is so  _ stiff- _ ”

Yuuri choked on air. He was out of words, out of composure, out of - time, he realised, blinking at the clock on the wall above Victor’s head. Phichit had been expecting him back at their dorm half an hour ago.

“You could … join us?”

Victor’s eyes blinked at him, beautiful, glittering, and irresistible … only Yuuri had to resist, swallowing the thick lump in his throat.

“M-maybe next time,” he just stammered.

He needed to leave. He needed to get back to his dorm and scream into a pillow, because pole dancing with Victor would be  _ impossible _ , a recipe for disaster way worse than the frat party ever was. Just seeing him so casual wasn’t doing anything for Yuuri’s blood pressure, cruelly split between flushing his face and filling his trousers.

Victor didn’t take the hint – he just folded his arms behind his back, rocking back and forth on his heels. The sparkle in his eyes had dimmed. He looked… disappointed. “Where are you going?”

It sounded almost like a whine, lower lip pouting. Yuuri wondered what it would feel like dragging that lip between his teeth…

His heart skipped a beat.

“Practice,” he lied.

Yuuri instantly regretted it.

It was just a little too quick, his voice a little too blunt and cheeks a little too red to pass off as casual, praying his thoughts had stayed in his head and hadn’t strayed into his eyes and trousers. If Victor knew what he was thinking about him-

The Russian beamed.

“Wow!” his smile was the shape of a heart, Yuuri noted with his own sinking with a horror he couldn’t explain. “You’re so dedicated!”

Yuuri just shrugged – he didn’t know what to say.

Mostly because it wasn’t true.

All trace of that disappeared completely though when a cool fingertip ran along the underside of his throat, lifting his chin forward. Yuuri leaned into it before he could help it, blinking helplessly – at Victor Nikiforov leaning forward too.

“Sure you can’t skip out?” Victor breathed over Yuuri’s mouth. “I can guarantee sliding up and down my pole would be  _ way _ more fun.”

The blood drained from Yuuri’s face.

He barely caught Victor’s wink through the haze of his own shock, not sure what it was that flustered him most; the innuendo’s, the proximity, the sheer thought of any related to  _ Victor _ and  _ pole _ that sent Yuuri’s mind reeling and his knees weakening beneath him. He’d always known Victor was a shameless playboy but to see it in person…

He staggered back before the last of his brain cells fried, only just avoiding tripping over his fallen backpack behind him.

“N-no, um-”

_ Oh God, what was happening? _

Yuuri felt his tongue knot as he glanced up and saw Victor watching him, eyes sparkling and lips quirked in a soft smirk. A  _ knowing  _ smirk. What did Victor know? His heart dropped into his stomach with dread. Victor wasn’t… no, he couldn’t know… could he?

Suddenly, everything clicked – the class, the innuendos, the smirk…

Yuuri had never told anybody about his pole dancing – not with Christophe Giacometti, but still just as incriminating – but somehow Victor  _ knew. _

And he was mocking Yuuri for it…

Yuuri ducked his head down feeling the shame he knew he didn’t deserve wash over him, thickening his ears and burning his cheeks. His heartbeat echoed in his fingertips, numb and tingling as they reached down and picked his bag up. He wanted to be gone. He would give anything to be anywhere else in that moment, to escape being mocked by the boy he had a crush on.

It wasn’t fair.

“I really have to go,” he just mumbled, stepping forward and praying Victor would get the hint.  

Maybe he should just run for it, he thought. Just barge past Victor and bolt as fast as his legs could carry him. Could it really get any worse? Yuuri wasn’t sure, senses sizzling under the burning of his cheeks and feeling increasingly uncomfortable in his own skin with the vision of human perfection flaunting right in front of him.

His legs moved forward of their own accord - Victor still lodged comfortably in the doorway – but Yuuri didn’t care anymore. He could feel his head lightening, and his breaths tightening. If he didn’t calm down –

An arm looped through his, spinning him back round.

The world span in a mash of colour and Yuuri blinked to keep up with it, failing spectacularly as an arm settled around his shoulders and a hip bumped against his, pinning him to a halt.

Yuuri blinked up into the click of an iPhone, eyes barely straight again.

_ Damn. _

 

* * *

 

_**v-nikiforov** added 1 new photo. _

_ [image] _

_ Look who we bumped into!  Looking forward to playing against this cutie on Saturday. _

_ Liked by  **christophe-gc** and 465 others _

_ 12 minutes ago _

 

* * *

Yuuri looked at the picture on Victor’s Instagram and tried not to cry, blinking hard and fast to keep the burning behind his eyes at bay.

He couldn’t help it.

The mocking had been bad enough, but the picture – Yuuri all red, and mouth gormless, and eyes round and dazed – and the caption stung even more somehow, rubbing salt into the wound. Victor didn’t need to do that. He didn’t need to advertise Yuuri’s humiliation and cruelly tease Yuuri when he was at his worst.

He didn’t need to… but he’d done it anyway.

Yuuri closed over his laptop with an ashamed click and buried himself under the covers, wishing that daylight would never come.

 

* * *

 

The next morning, Yuuri’s trainers pounded the pavement in a comforting rhythm, losing himself in the beat and the steady huff of his own breath. The music in his ears was barely audible anymore, volume clicked down to practically nothing. Yuuri couldn’t help it; he preferred running in the real world, seeing and listening to the lives unfolding around him rather than the senseless tune of the next club classic.

It worked at least – he felt significantly better than he had with his run with Phichit, mind quiet and body warm with the pleasant pull of exertion tugging at his muscles.

He even smiled.

It was the same route as before, but somehow it felt different. Every step felt lighter, the air cooler, and every breath filled with more oxygen than he remembered of their counterparts when he’d ran with Phichit. Things were better. Things could not go wrong today. 

He had a plan. He would run, he would go to class, he would get takeout and he would not - repeat,  _ not _ ! – think about a certain star striker for the Michigan Misfits –

Until he blinked.

... and suddenly he was right there.

A flash of silver was the only warning he got, glinting gloriously in the sunlight, before Victor stepped into Yuuri’s path ahead, steaming cups of coffee in each hand.

The grin slid off Yuuri’s face like melted butter.

_ Oh no… _

He wasn’t prepared for this. His heart went into his mouth in a heartbeat - choking him - as he slowed his pace, feeling colour flood to his cheeks on instinct.

Victor just beamed in front. His face lit up the moment Yuuri slowed to a walk, flicking the flyaway silver strands of hair out of his face, the rest tied up in a high ponytail that looked just  _ oh-so  _ good while he fluttered those perfect silver eyelashes around bottomless cerulean blue eyes. Their sparkle made Yuuri’s heart skip a beat, air punching helplessly from his lungs. Oh God, it wasn’t fair...

“Yuuri!” Victor bounced up on the balls of his feet, smile blinding and hair sparkling in the sunlight. “Hi. I was hoping I’d bump into you here.”

The words hit Yuuri like a slap in the face, staggering back a step and blinking wide in shock. He must be hearing things. Victor hadn’t just said that… had he?

“R-really?”

Victor’s smile just widened. “Yeah, I saw on Instagram that you ran around here. Here –“ his arm jerked out, forcing one of the cups into Yuuri’s hands. “I got you coffee.”

“Oh, um-”

Yuuri’s hands fumbled around the cup, just about getting a good grip before Victor’s fingers pulled away. Yuuri didn’t know what to say. Words failed him. He just stood in the middle of the dog park stunned with Victor Nikiforov, holding the coffee  _ Victor Nikiforov  _ had bought for him – what was happening? This didn’t happen in the real world. He didn’t even have his fingers free to pinch himself anymore…

Victor’s newly freed hand went to his hip, resting his weight on one leg. “Why didn’t you like my picture?”

Picture? What picture –  _ oh _ , Yuuri suddenly remembered, eyes shooting wide.  _ That  _ picture. He’d almost forgotten. Victor had a strange way of making him forget … well, everything. Everything, but him.

“I, um,” his leg bounced awkwardly on the spot, feeling the muscle start to stiffen. He tried to focus on that instead of the burning on his cheeks. “I don’t really use social media much.”

“Oh…”

He could hear the disappointment in Victor’s voice, hear the sad slope to his voice. His accent made it sound even worse, drawing out the sound.

_ That would be the end of it _ , Yuuri thought, bringing the coffee to his lips and trying to distract himself from the way his heart sank at the low tone of Victor’s voice. He could all but imagine the Russian’s shoulders slumping, his bright eyes dimming. He didn’t have the guts to look up and see it for himself though. Surely, that had to be the end of it …

“Could I have your number instead then?”

Yuuri choked on his coffee.

 

* * *

 

_ “Hi Yuuri!” _

“Um,” Yuuri swallowed the thick lump in his throat, hoping Victor couldn’t hear it down the phone line. “Hi…”

He wasn’t sure how it had happened. Just earlier than morning he’d been promising himself that he wouldn’t give Victor any more of his time ever again. He wouldn’t be upset over him, he wouldn’t crush over him, he wouldn’t think about him at all and would drown out any thought of the Russian striker after the embarrassing photo of them in the dance studio… 

Yet there he was - laid back on his bed with a blush on his cheeks and a shy smile on his lips - with Victor on the other end of the phone pressed to his ear.

It wasn’t what he’d expected.

_ “Am I bothering you?”  _

Even down the phone, Victor managed to make Yuuri’s heart flutter. Maybe it was the silky tone to his voice? Or the uncertain edge that Yuuri knew from experience only came from biting one’s lip - and imagining Victor like that was just…  _ well _ … Yuuri’s stomach flipped.

“No, no!” he said quickly, colour lifting hard and hot to his cheeks. Perhaps a little too quickly... “I’m just surprised you called.”

He was.

Victor had texted him all evening, with a string of heart shaped emojis,  pictures of his super-fluffy dog - poofy from his bath - and a flurry of adoring texts about how cute the poodle was… but when Victor’s name had flashed up on an incoming call in the middle of Yuuri staring at a selfie of Victor with a cheekful of brown fur, it had rendered him speechless. He quickly forgot why he was supposed to be mad at Victor again...

Victor’s voice dropped an octave, smooth like melted butter.  _ “Well, I wanted to talk to my favourite defender.” _

Yuuri’s cheeks glowed.

“What about Georgi?” he asked, hoping his voice didn’t really sound as breathless as he thought it did.

_ “Georgi can’t dance like you can.” _

“You haven’t seen me dance.”

_ “That needs to change.” _

Yuuri slapped a hand over his mouth just in time to catch the giggle bubbling on his lips, warmth glowing helplessly in his chest. The smile spreading over his face was too wide, too happy, too naive… Yuuri didn’t care.

_ “Are you excited for the match?” _

His smile faltered.

He mulled over the question for a moment, rolling it over and over in his head. The match was singularly the his lifelong dream and his worst nightmare all wrapped into one...

“Nervous,” he settled on, chewing on his lip. “You?”

“ _ Same _ .”

Yuuri balked at that, frowning at his ceiling. “Really?”

_ “I’m allowed to still get nervous, Yuuri, _ ” Victor chuckled, the sound unfairly melodic like the trickle of a delicate woodland waterfall. _ “You might block all my goals!” _

Yuuri’s shoulders shrugged. “I might not.”

Victor was only the best stroker in the state whereas Yuuri was just….  _ meh _ .... if he stood a chance at all, it was only because Victor let him.

_ “But you’ll be trying, right? _

Something nagged in the back of Yuuri’s mind, catching him just in time. His mouth hovered open for a silent moment, picking his words carefully. 

“Me and the rest of my team,” he said stiffly. “Yeah...”

_ “Yuuuuuuuuriii!” _

It was hard not to laugh, Yuuri grinning so hard his cheeks hurt he could hear Victor’s pout, just imagining the push of Victor’s lower lip and the big puppy dog eyes Yuuri now had photographic evidence of that he could spin out. It was a pretty look. Everything about Victor was pretty, like he was handcarved by the editors of Vogue magazine. 

Down the phone, Victor sighed, loud and dramatic … and utterly adorable.  _ “Don’t play coy with me!” _

“I’m not,” Yuuri just giggled, knees knocking together awkwardly. “I just …” his teeth dug into his lower lip, but it wasn’t enough to smother his grin. Until he realised exactly why he’d hesitated - “I don’t think Celestino would like this.”

Yuuri knew his coach; enthusiastic and supportive for the most part, gentle and flexible… but fiercely protective of his team, proud like each one of his players was his own son. He cared about each one of them as a person, not just a player. It was something Yuuri had always been thankful for. And it was for that reason that Yuuri knew he would be suspicious that Victor was talking to him. 

He knew how it looked. Phichit would find it odd too - which was exactly why he hadn’t told him yet.

Yuuri didn’t want to shatter the illusion just yet…

Even if in the long run, it would end up with a broken heart, a lost match, and an endless stream of  _ I told you so’ _ s.

_ “You’re not telling me anything though.” _

“I don’t think it would matter.”

Victor was quiet for a moment, air thickening over the phone line. 

Yuuri could feel it, acutely aware of his pulse pounding in his ears in that moment. He shuffled on his bedsheets, pulling his shirt into a slightly more comfortable position over his body and stretching his legs in his sweatpants. He hoped Victor couldn’t hear him rustling, couldn’t hear his nervous swallows and feel the warm glow of his flushing cheeks. He couldn’t help it.

Victor still hadn’t said anything.

Until-

_ “Okay.” _

That one word punched through Yuuri like kick to the gut, knocking the air out of his lungs and the last trace of his smile off his face. 

_ “Do you want me to go?” _

He sounded so disappointed...

Yuuri jolted upright in bed, gasp fresh on his lips and eyes blinking wide with sudden panic. “Wha- no!”

_ “Really?” _

_ Really,  _ Yuuri wanted to say back word catching in his throat. He didn’t want Victor to go. The smart thing would be to let him - until after the match was over at least. That would prove once and for all if Victor was really interested in Yuuri or just the secrets he knew about his team’s game tactics. That would be the smart thing to do…

Yuuri had never been good at doing the smart thing.

_ “Well, in that case…”  _ he could hear Victor biting his lip down the line. Yuuri wished he could see it... “ _ Could I see you?” _

Yuuri’s wish wilted in a heartbeat, feeling the blood drain from his face. A million swear words bloomed in his head in all the languages he knew, panic spiking sudden and sharp. Oh God - he hadn’t expect that!

“Um…”

His eyes flittered around the room - down at himself - and he grimaced. It wasn’t exactly the best impression to give Victor Nikiforov…

But he couldn’t say no. 

“Yeah…” he said, drawing the one word out as long as he could get away with, sitting up and shuffling further along the wall - to a distinctly posterless and  _ plain  _ part of the wall - patting his bed-hair down and willing the colour in his cheeks to settle into something a little more socially acceptable. “Okay.”

It was not okay.

The moment he clicked the FaceTime icon and his face popped up in the corner of the screen by Victor’s, Yuuri immediately regretted his decision. He looked a mess. His hair was ugh, his skin shone in the bad light, and his eyes looked disproportionately small behind his thick, blue rimmed glasses. There was nothing attractive about him at all.

While Victor was still unfairly gorgeous.

Bright, blue eyes sparkled. Pearlescent white teeth flashed in a grin. Silver hair swept back from his face and tumbled around his shoulders – his  _ bare _ shoulders. Victor was shirtless.

Yuuri felt his mouth fall open.

Victor smirked in the phone screen. _ “Like what you see?” _ he winked.

Yuuri melted, heart thudding to a stop.  _ Oh God  _ \- he hadn’t even said anything yet and already he was making a fool of himself...

“No, I, um-” he slapped a hand over his eyes, wishing the bed would just open up and swallow him whole. “I’m sorry, I-I didn’t mean it like that...”

Victor laughed - it sounded beautiful...

_ “It’s okay,”  _ he said, Yuuri hearing the grin in his voice.  _ “I was just teasing.” _

Yuuri was struggling. Breathing, directing blood flow to places other than just his flaming cheeks…  _ existing.  _ He wished he could disappear, rewind time. If only he could go back and give his past self a script laced with cool quips and safe lines to say to Victor, a warning about what he would see, advice to wear something just a little nicer than the clothes he was ashamed to even let the mailman see him in let alone his idol...

_ “But seriously, Yuuri-” _

Yuuri peeked through his fingers.

Victor’s chin was propped up in his fist, eyes glowing at the screen. It wasn’t fair - Yuuri didn’t stand a chance, that small playful smile on his face making his heart flutter.

“ _ Have you got a girlfriend?” _

Yuuri’s hand dropped away in surprise. 

Victor was staring at him with a strangely serious look in his eye, sparkle just a little hardened in a way the little smirk didn’t fully offset, like he really was hanging on edge at the question just as much as Yuuri was.

“Um, no?” It sounded more like a question. Yuuri felt more colour splash on his cheeks. “I don’t really-”

His eyes angled up, to the ceiling. The safe, cream coloured ceiling. Nothing could distract him there, thoughts finally starting to connect again like a normal person without the distraction of Victor’s unfairly pretty face clogging up his brain cells. The idea of a girlfriend though… he pulled a face.

_ “Really? _ ” 

Out of the corner of his eye, Yuuri caught Victor sit up straighter.

_ “Me too! Any boyfriends then?” _

Yuuri bit his lip.  _ Look at the ceiling _ , he willed. The ceiling. Every grove and dip in the patchy paint work - was that a tiny crack across in the far right corner...

“No…”

Where was Victor going with this? Asking about his dating life - heck, just the video call in general was weird considering they’d only met a few days ago. They didn’t even go to the same school. They went to  _ rival  _ schools. What was happening?

_ “You look like you’re thinking…” _

Yuuri didn’t realise he’d been frowning, closing his mouth now he was aware of it hanging open. He swallowed hard, shifting his gaze from the ceiling to the wardrobe across the room. “A little bit,” he admitted.

_ “About?” _

“You.”

Victor sat up again, soft smile on his lips. “ _ Really?” _ Now it was Victor’s turn to sound breathless... _ “What about me?” _

“Why you’re talking to me.”

Victor’s smile slipped.

After a stiff beat, he forced out a tense chuckle, leaning back a fraction from the screen.  _ “You make it sound like I was up to something, Yuuri.” _

“Aren’t you?” 

Mentally, Yuuri clutched his head and doubled over in shame, mortified at what was coming out of his mouth. Somebody shut him up, he begged to himself. He was starting to sound like Phichit, like Celestino - and they hadn’t even said it yet!

“ _ Yuuri… _ ”

His heartbeat was thudding in his fingers, breath catching ever so slightly. Could Victor tell? Could he hear? If he did, what must he think of Yuuri? Panicking like this, accusing him …

Suddenly, Yuuri regretted everything; speaking to Victor, thinking about Victor, admiring his skills - even joining the soccer team when he’d first started college, regretting the picking up of a soccer ball when he was eight years old that led to this awful trail of events. He didn’t belong in this world. Victor was a god among mortals - Yuuri didn’t deserve to talk to him. He knew it. Victor must know it.

Phichit and Celestino’s knowing expressions flashed behind Yuuri’s eyes, their  _ I told you so _ ’s written on their faces…

They were right, Yuuri realised, and they hadn’t even heard the story to think so yet.

Victor was just talking to him for information.

Disappointment didn’t cover it - the air closed up in Yuuri’s lungs and he felt his heart drop into his stomach like a stone in water, face paling and heartbeat ringing in his ears. Nausea churned in his gut, hot tears burning behind his eyes. It wasn’t disappointment - it was crushing heartbreak, all over again. He should have known better.

“I’ve got to go,” he said quickly - too quickly - hand starting to shake and voice… well, that was  _ way  _ beyond redemption... “I’ve got class in the morning! S-sorry-”

_ “Yuuri, wait-” _

Yuuri hung up before Victor could finish.

 

* * *

 

Yuuri couldn’t get his mind into practise the next day.

He just couldn’t. He tripped over cones and lost the ball too many times to count, running into his teammates and nudging the ball back into his own goal by accident at one point. He was a mess - so much so that Celestino banned him to circuits before too long in an effort to get him to sharpen up, to wake him up again. The match was just days away. He didn’t have time for this...

“What’s going on, Yuuri?” Phichit asked, darting his eyes up from the ball Yuuri had just passed him to flash  _ a look _ across to his friend.

Yuuri just side stepped to the other side of the cones, eyes low. “I’m fine.”

“You don’t look fine.”

Yuuri just grimaced. 

He didn’t say anything as Phichit passed him back the ball, watching it dribble across the turf like it was the most interesting thing he’d ever seen. He needed to nail these passes, to earn his way back onto the main pitch with the rest of the team rather than just doing drills on the side with the goalie. He needed to win that match. 

The ball made a comforting thump as it hit his boot, Yuuri’s foot moving back with the impact to soften the catch. Then he drew back his heel, and kicked. It was an easy pattern to fall into -  _ pass, catch, pass, catch, thump, thump, thump, thump _ …

He was just starting to get into a rhythm, just starting to lose himself in the beat of the ball when-

“Yuuri!”

Yuuri blinked up - and his heart dropped into his stomach.

“Oh no...” he muttered to himself.

Pressed up against the fence of the astroturf, a pitch over and a soccer ball resting on his hip, was Victor Nikiforov. 

Yuuri wished he could disappear. 

Everything stopped. The thuds of the soccer balls slowed, the running teammates on the pitch froze, and Yuuri felt all eyes swivel round to him and the infamous stranger pressed up against the fence, calling his name. Victor stretched up an arm and waved. Yuuri felt the back of his neck burn.

“Is that-”

“I’ll be right back.”

Yuuri didn’t give Phichit a chance to finish his question before he pushed off, legs feeling like they were made of jelly as he ran to the pitchside. 

He was very much aware of the eyes bearing into his back behind him. His teammates. His coach. His best friend. Everyone was  _ looking! _ This was going to ruin everything. Yuuri’s skin prickled with humiliation, blood boiling with something hotter that lodged a bitter lump in his throat, only hammered in harder the closer he got to Victor’s blinding smile. It dampened into something a little softer though as Yuuri got to the fence, hand reaching out to the mesh to soften his stop. 

“Victor?” Yuuri hissed under his breath, like his team might still be able to hear them from the pitch. “What are you doing here? You can’t-”

“You hung up on me.”

Victor said it with a straight face, eyes clear and sharp with that dainty little smile on his face that looked just a little too poised, too perfect to be natural. 

Yuuri didn’t like it.

He blushed red - it didn’t change anything though. 

“Yeah, but you can’t just show up at our practice,” he said through gritted teeth, avoiding Victor’s eye. “Celestino will kill me.”

Victor’s expression cracked a little. “But you  _ hung up _ on me!” he all but whined, knees flexing in what Yuuri would imagine to be a childish stamp if Victor hadn’t fought the impulse at the last minute. His lip pouted, eyes blinking back to life. It was annoyingly adorable. “And before I even got a chance to-” 

His teeth snagged his lip at the last minute, catching himself. Something new clashed in Victor’s gaze.

Yuuri wanted to be annoyed.

He really did. Victor had crashed his practise, was making a scene - just showing up would have been enough to earn Yuuri a grilling when he got back to his team, but  _ no,  _ Victor had to make a scene as well! But that glitter in Victor’s eyes, the round crystal glow that blinked up at him oh-so demurely… Yuuri’s tongue darted out to wet his dry lips. He was a weak man.

“What?” he asked, curiosity getting the better of him.

Victor’s eyes just glanced down. 

“Before...” Red grazed Victor’s ridiculously pretty cheekbones, fingers rolling the soccer ball over the arch of his hip absent minded. “I just wanted to, um-”

He sounded like Yuuri, Yuuri couldn’t help but think, staring with his mouth open and jaw slack, eyebrows curved up in confusion. What was happening? Victor Nikiforov – king of the pitch and star of his school, state heartthrob – was stumbling over his words. Like – and this really took Yuuri’s breath away – like he was  _ nervous! _

Victor stopped playing with his fingers, sucking in a steady breath. When his eyes looked up again, they were firm with determination.

“I’ve got practise tomorrow,” he said, voice sure and strong. “Maybe,” Victor’s teeth caught on his lower lip, cheeks darkening. “Maybe we could… go get coffee after? You know, just… just you and me?”

Yuuri nearly forgot how to breathe. “Y-you mean, like a d-”

“-date-”

“-dare?”

Victor blinked. “What?”

Yuuri felt whatever hope and good mood he had left drain out of him, the bitterness burning through his veins back with a vengeance. His mouth twisted into a scowl. “That’s not funny.”

“I…” Victor just stared. “I don’t-”

“This isn’t your school,” Yuuri said curtly before Victor could bother making up any excuses. Yuuri didn’t want to hear them. “You should go.”

“Yuuri…”

Yuuri blinked on impulse but there were no tears to bat away, no burning behind his eyes. It ached behind his ribcage though, jaw hurting from where he gritted his teeth so hard and fingers clenching and unclenching into fists at his sides. He should have known better after all, he should have known...

“Yuuri!”

Yuuri glanced over his shoulder - Phichit was waving from the pitch, waving for him to get back. Celestino was still watching.

Dread settled heavy in Yuuri’s stomach. He wasn’t looking forward to explaining his humiliation to his coach, how Victor Nikiforov tricked him and made a fool out of him to throw the team off balance, to get their game strategy - Yuuri wasn’t even sure what it was still, but it was all one big joke to Victor in any case. He’d done everything he could to broadcast Yuuri in the worst light, to mock him. From the ugly picture, to getting Yuuri’s phone number, and now here, asking Yuuri out on a fake date… it had _ Misfits _ written all over it. Yuuri glanced up, eyes grazing past Victor, looking for where he might find the striker’s giggling teammates.

“I’ve got to go,” he just said bitterly.

He couldn’t look at Victor as he turned away, heart too heavy to run back to the pitch, weighing him down…

“Yuuri, wait, please. I really didn’t-” 

Something tugged Yuuri’s sleeve and Yuuri wrenched his arm away instinctively, twisting round to catch Victor’s fingers reaching through the metal mesh of the fence. His skin burned where Victor had touched him, a bristling reminder.

“Just leave me alone,” he glared. “I know I’m not as good as you- and maybe I never will be, fine – but I don’t need you making fun of me.”

“Yuuri, I’m-I’m not. I really did mean-”

“I really,” Yuuri pressed his eyes shut. He couldn’t bear to look at Victor anymore, heart cracking in his chest. “Don’t care. I just thought… I mean, I didn’t think you were like that, but I was obviously wrong. It’s fine…”

Ice cold rage had been washing over Yuuri, creeping into his system slow and dangerous the more Victor talked, the more he mocked Yuuri and protested his innocence. 

“I’m not-”

“Just go away!” 

Yuuri’s composure snapped with a crack he could feel. The spark fanned into a flame, breaths deep and hard in his chest as he rounded back to the fence and jabbed his finger at Victor’s chest through the metal mesh, eyes narrowed and furious, and voice barely able to talk straight without a raging wobble. 

“We’re going to beat you,” Yuuri all but spat, finger trembling as he poked into Victor’s chest. “You, and your team, and your coach, a-a-and your _ stupid hair _ !”

Yuuri wasn’t sure where the words came from. They just spilled from his lips, raw and honest, laced with a venom and hostility he hadn’t known he’d possessed until he watched Victor’s eyes widen and the striker stumble back away from him, idle soccer ball falling from his hands.

Neither made a move for it.

Yuuri just curled his hands into tight fists, clinging to the sensation of his nails biting into the flesh of his palm as he half turned back to his team. He would show Victor. He would show everyone… “We’ll settle this on Saturday.”

 

* * *

 

Yuuri wanted to say the rage gave him confidence on Saturday afternoon, that it burned hot and ready inside him, burning up his nerves and leaving nothing but steely determination and a clear mind behind. That’s what he wanted to say.

He was wrong.

He wobbled from leg to leg as he waited for the rest of the players to get into position, rolling his ankles loose one last time. 

Pink-purple kits dotted out over the pitch in between the midnight blue bodies of Detroit Dodgers, tagging their players, Phichit a bright orange dot behind Yuuri out of the corner of his eye. Across the pitch, the Michigan Misfit’s Otabek Altin stretched under the goalpost in fluorescent yellow. All the colours darted around the field, warming up, stretching, cheering… all except for one. The one Yuuri was looking for.

Silver.

Where was Victor?

Yuuri couldn’t help but look. Victor should be right in front of his face - the leading striker of his team - but he was nowhere. There was only the angelic blonde of Yuri Plisetsky - their substitute striker. 

_ What? _

“You’re going down, piggy,” Plisetsky growled, glaring over at Yuuri while he shook out the muscles in his slim legs, easily the shortest one of his team. There was more than one rumour regarding the legitimacy of the age stamped on his visa…

Yuuri barely heard him.

His eyes just scanned over the pitch behind him; Christophe Giacometti, Georgi Popovich, Otabek Altin in the goal - all the Misfit’s best players.

But where was their star?

Yuuri swallowed the lump in his throat, feeling his energy drop like a stone in water. This was all about beating Victor, about proving him wrong...

The starting whistle blew. 

It took an extra minute for the sound to jolt through him, senses firing back to life. The chill in the air slapped into him, the cheer of the crowd roared in his ears, and the flash of Yuri Plisetsky’s blonde hair darting before his eyes snapped him back to reality, legs bolting into action. He wasn’t sure where he was going yet, thoughts scattered like rolling marbles - he just ran. 

He still looked for Victor. Every pink-purple in the corner of his eye had him turning, looking for that unmistakable swish of silver hair, those chiseled cheekbones and sharp blue eyes following the ball.

For the first ten minutes of the game, he barely saw it himself, too busy searching for that one star striker instead. Victor had to be here. If something had happened - if his visa had expired, or he’d gotten sick - Celestino would have been dancing on the rooftops about it, drilling into the team confidence about their boosted chances. It hadn’t happened - so if nothing was wrong, where was Victor? 

Yuuri had a bad feeling. He tuned out the crowd, tuned out the blonde watching him out of the corner of his eye as he hung back while the ball scrapped around the Misfit’s goalpost across the pitch, Dodger’s pushing for an early shot. The Misfit’s were barely trying, leisurely following players, easily blocking shoots… it didn’t sit well with Yuuri. The whole strategy had something off, something wrong…

The Misfits were the  _ best _ . They won leagues in the sleep, beat teams way better than Yuuri’s in warmups - the Dodgers should be no problem. Yuuri fought the urge to bite his fingernails, nerves on edge. What were they waiting for?

His family was watching, his friends… they would all see him now from the stands. A nervous wreck with his heart beating in his mouth and his ears fuzzy, legs made of jello and wide eyes lost. He was supposed to be good. Even when his team were destined to lose, they could still play well - and they were! But when the Misfits were done warming up… Yuuri doubled over, feeling queasy.

It wasn’t like he imagined it. There was no rush of adrenalin or spark of hatred, determined to beat Victor Nikiforov. He just wanted to run - run and never look back.

There was no running though. Everyone would see him; the crowd holding up banners with their names, his family, his school, his coach screaming encouragement on the sidelines beside a stony faced Yakov and a silver topped tracksuit-

Yuuri did a double take.

Yakov Feltsman - the Misfit’s coach - stood at the benches, arms stiff and expression grave like he’d just kicked a puppy on contract - and beside him was Victor.

_ Different _ .

His hair was gone. The long, flowing silver locks didn’t exist, traded in for a short cut with only a slither of bangs falling over his left eye remaining, showing off his sharp cheekbones and strong jawline like he was a model more than a soccer player. A thin lipped scowl was painted on the Russian teens face, steely blue eyes piercing. 

Yuuri felt his heart stop as they settled on him. 

Victor wasn’t in his kit. Or at least, he was - just  _ under  _ the white and red trademark tracksuit of the Misfit’s, stood just a heartbeat away from the bench. The symbolism was clear though.

Victor wasn’t playing?

Yuuri’s hopes sank like a stone in water.

Those blue eyes held him, cold and hard like crystal, bitter and… hurt? Victor looked more than a little upset - he looked  _ angry _ . 

Yuuri had done that… somehow. His brow dipper into a frown, mind turning. He didn’t understand - why was Victor so mad at  _ him?  _ He’d been the one playing all the pranks, trying to make fun of Yuuri with his team! All Yuuri had done was call him out on it, put a stop to everything and defend himself. He hadn’t even done anything mean, just asked Victor to leave him alone.

The look in Victor’s eyes wasn’t seeing something that was though, obviously. It went beyond general reservations with a rival team, game face and all - whatever it was, it was personal.

Yuuri was still trying to figure it out when the steely look in Victor’s eyes cracked and they flashed wide, darting to the side - to the otherside of the pitch.  _ What?  _ Yuuri just frowned, following the line of Victor’s gaze.

His heart dropped to his stomach.

_ Shit. _

The ball was careering towards him - carried by a ridiculously fast Swiss man that was all but a blonde blur - speeding ahead of three- no,  _ four  _ Dodgers players in the space of a whisper.

He was heading right for the goal.

Yuuri had to stop him.

His breath caught as he staggered forward, mind still scattered and still glimpsing Victor watching out of the corner of his eye, that tiny flash of silver that was unignorable now that Yuuri knew it was there. He still didn’t understand why it was there though, why it wasn’t on the pitch…

He didn’t have time to wonder though, not as Christophe Giacometti bounded towards him, fast and attacking. The ball looked glued to his foot.

Something nagged in the back of Yuuri’s mind as he braced himself, watching Giacometti’s movements, trying to work out his plan, which way he would go - he figured it out way too late, the flash of white of the ball shooting past him.

Right to Yuri Plisetsky.

The crowd groaned on the Dodger’s side. 

Yuuri barely had time to spin around to see it. All he saw was the blur of Plisetsky’s boots, the flash of white, and the dent in the net as the ball hit the back, missed by Phichit’s reaching fingertips by millimeters. But he saw it nevertheless and it still sent shockwaves of shame rippling through him. He pressed his eyes shut and swore, head tipping back in horror.

The Misfit’s had scored.

So that was what they’d been waiting for.

Fifteen minutes… that was all it had taken. Just fifteen minutes of toying with the Dodger’s before they’d been able to map them out, and send the ball driving home.

Yuuri wished he could be anywhere else in that moment, feeling his teams disappointment, the crowd’s disappointment, so many dashed hopes and miserable eyes falling on his guilt ridden shoulders. He should have stopped it. That was his job.

When his eyes opened again, they rolled to Victor. He expected a light to be in those eyes now, for a tiny smirk to play on his lips and the Russian to be bouncing on the balls of his feet…

Victor was deadly still, still scowling. He didn’t look at all happy that his team had just scored.

Yuuri frowned.

_ What? _

That didn’t make sense. 

It still rolled in his mind long afterwards though, through everything. Through his pitiful defending, through his team’s goal attempt that was was caught squarely by Altin, through the fancy trick that Plisetsky pulled on him twenty minutes later - the trick that was Victor’s signature move - that spun the ball around him with a flourishing flick, darting past him before Yuuri had had a chance to fully grasp what had happened.

He raced after the blonde down the left line way too late, a heartbeat behind that was barely anything and at the same time, nowhere near enough.

He still lunged after it, green rushing up to meet him and-

The ball soared over Phichit’s head, effortless.

Yuuri wished the ground would open up and swallow him whole as the Misfit’s side of the stands exploded with cheers and Yuri Plisetsky launched past him an into the waiting arms of one of his teammates. It only stung the shame in deeper, humiliation prickling hot on the back of his neck.

The feeling came back less than five minutes later - when Plistesky darted away from him to catch the ball on the side he hadn’t been paying attention to, Yuuri twisting so suddenly to keep up that his legs tangled beneath him and sent him flying. 

In the goal, Phichit slipped too.

Yuuri’s dignity turned to ash in his mouth as he gaped, watching the ball roll - not even needing a final kick from the Misfit’s - into the shamefully open goal.

Yuri Plisetsky stretched his arms wide, basking in the roar of the crowd from the away side. A gloating smile was rich on his lips, thick with pride and satisfaction, something almost mocking in his eyes as they rolled over Yuuri.

The worst thing was, Yuuri couldn’t even argue with it, just gritting his teeth back as the Misfit strolled comfortably past him, lapping up the attention.

He’d deserved it.

Yuuri’s gaze dropped - and linked with Phichit’s, still sprawled out on the ground with his usually bright eyes dipped and narrowed with irritation. It was hard to tell which one of them was more to blame...

Yuuri knew who he pinned in on though, fist driving into the ground and spewing up shoots of grass and flecks of dirt onto his cheek.

 

* * *

 

Yuuri slumped on the bench with his team mates at half time, miserable and barely listening to Celestino rant over them. He felt too depressed to listen. There was nothing Celestino could say to him that he hadn’t already said to himself a hundred times in his head, beating himself up and rerunning over all those missed opportunities and failed blocks. He’d almost single handedly let three goals slip. They’d all known it wasn’t going to be a great match but even this was beyond their miserable expectations.

Celestino’s words - whatever they were - washed over bowed heads and narrowed eyes staring down at the grass, every player locked inside their own head, licking their wounds.

Yuuri glanced up, looking across the pitch through his eyelashes.

Victor’s bright blue eyes were still watching him, ignoring his coach too with his hands buried deep in his pockets. Yuuri couldn’t tell what they looked like from that far away, couldn’t tell if they were bitter, or miserable, or gloating… the scowl was still there though. He could still see that.

“Yuuri-”

Yuuri barely heard Celestino as he pushed himself to his feet and felt them walk beneath him, carving a dead straight path towards the Misfit’s benched striker. 

He and Victor never broke eye contact, Victor turning away from his team as he watched Yuuri walk towards him, stalking away from them along the line of their side of the pitch. Yuuri adjusted his course. 

The Misfits’ heads turned, but nobody said anything. Yakov Feltsman just kept talking like nothing had happened, like Victor walking off was nothing new. None of the other players looked surprised, blinking back to their coach as soon as they saw the flicker of movement out of the corner of their eye had been Victor. 

Yuuri wondered what that meant. 

He didn’t say anything though, just following Victor to the corner of the pitch until the Russian started to slow and turned around, his eyes lowered. 

Yuuri came to a stop too. 

Up close, Victor looked different than he’d thought he would. The scowl wasn’t as bitter as he’d thought, the eyes weren’t as glaring, the paler than usual tint to his skin more drab and sunken than pearlescent like a marble statue. Victor looked… sad.

It wasn’t what Yuuri had expected. 

His tongue darted out to wet his dry lips, words bubbling in his throat but catching before he could actually say any of them, mouth opening and closing like a fish.

He didn’t know what to say….

“W-why did you cut your hair?”

Yuuri wasn’t sure why he asked, why that was the first thing that spilled from his mouth, but it was. Those flowing silver locks that had been a beacon were gone… why? Why had Victor chosen now to chop off his signature look? He’d  _ loved _ his long hair - anybody  with eyes could see how much the Russian had loved it by the care he’d put into it.

So why was it gone?

Victor looked up, eyes a little less dull, sparkling ever so slightly though his face remained stoic. He didn’t quite meet Yuuri’s gaze. “You said it was stupid long.”

Yuuri’s heart leapt into his throat, choking him. It was his fault?

“I-I didn’t-” 

Had he said that? His mind cast back - it must have been at his practise, when Victor had just showed up. He remembered saying something about Victor’s hair, but… was that really what he’d said?

He buried his face in his hands, breath catching in his throat and groaning miserably into his fingers. What had he done? “I was just being mean,” he admitted, hoping Victor could decipher his muffled voice. He didn’t dare look up and find out for sure though, not yet. “I … I loved your hair.”

If he’d thought he felt bad from the game, this was worse. Guilt swelled in his chest and settled heavy in his gut at the same time, those gorgeous silver locks gone all because of him…

He peeked up through his fingers, wondering just how much Victor must hate him for it.

Victor’s blank expression cracked just a little more, eyes blinking a fraction rounder, glittering with a little more life. His silver eyelashes batted, fanning out over his pale, perfect cheeks. “Oh…” he ran a hand through his hair, fluffing it at the back. It still looked unfairly gorgeous. “You mean ... you don’t like it now?”

Yuuri gasped. 

“No, no!” he stumbled, hands pulling down from his face in horror and blood draining from his face. “That’s not what I meant!”

Victor looked beautiful. He always looked beautiful; with long hair, short hair - with no hair at all probably too! The style suited him short. The bangs shaved off just above his sharp cheekbones, accentuating the angles of his face and maturing him, making look more  _ hot  _ than his former  _ pretty _ , granting more space for that wonderful smile dancing on his lips to really shine-

_ -wait _ .

Yuuri’s rambling thoughts halted to a stop.

Victor was  _ smiling _ . Grinning beautifully with glittering eyes blinking at Yuuri through his eyelashes, face angled down ever so demurely. He didn’t look upset at all…

“I guess I went a bit overboard when you dumped me,” he said, combing his fingers through his hair again, pink dusting his cheeks.

It took a second for the words to sink into Yuuri’s brain, too distracted by how damned  _ attractive _ Victor could make a simple move like just combing his hair back from his eyes look. When he did listen though, his eyes popped wide.

“D-dumped you?”

Victor just blinked at him. “At your practise,” he prompted, boot scuffing the green awkwardly. “You were right. Showing up there was too much. I’m sorry.”

“Y-you’re-”

Yuuri slapped his hand over his mouth, not daring to let any more words escape without analysing them carefully first. Before he said something he regretted…

His mind struggled to wrap around what was happening - Victor had cut his hair because Yuuri had rejected him when he showed up at his practise? And if that was true, then it hadn’t been a joke. And if it wasn’t a joke, then that had to mean-

“You  _ like  _ me?”

Victor’s smile broke into a chuckle, grin stretching wider. “Of course, I like you, Yuuri,” he beamed gloriously. “Isn’t that obvious by now?”

It should have been, Yuuri thought in his hindsight, replaying every encounter they’d had up until that point and seeing them with fresh eyes under the new revelation. Everything shed in a different light.

Victor really thought he was cute, like he’d said in the Instagram post.

Victor really did want his number.

Victor really did want a date…

Yuuri about to mentally combust when Victor’s fingers touched gently at the point of his chin, tilting his face back up again. When had Yuuri looked down? He hadn’t noticed…

“What are you doing, Yuuri?” Victor asked softly, eyes glowing with clashes of blue and green, colours rolling and clashing like the colours of the sea. His head jerked to the pitch. “How long are you going to stay in warmup mode?”

_ What? _

He wasn’t playing his best. He knew he wasn’t playing at his best. His best wasn’t hampered with anxiety and distraction, had his legs turn to mush beneath him whenever the ball turned in his direction and had his heart in his mouth. That was why he was in defense after all - to have a safety net, to have somewhere to hide behind...

“How do you do it?” just spilled from his lip, hypnotised by the swirling shades of blue in Victor’s eyes. “How…”

_ How do you be you? _

The unspoken words echoed in his mind, in his heart, and he breathed them into the short space between him and Victor, hoping the Russian would understand.

Victor just grinned.

“You have to do the opposite of what people expect, Yuuri,” he purred, voice low and silky smooth. Yuuri felt his insides melt. “How else will you surprise them?”

 

* * *

 

Victor’s voice echoed in Yuuri’s mind as he stepped back on the pitch for the second half, the Russian’s sharp yet glowing eyes following him from the sidelines with a renewed vigour. They were lighter, hopeful.

And if Victor believed in him, why couldn’t Yuuri believe in himself?

_ How long are you going to stay in warmup mode? _

How long was Yuuri going to stay hiding behind his team, lurking at the back of the pitch in their defense?

He was a good player. He’d been the best in his region back in Japan - that was why this college had snapped him up when he’d moved to America and graduated high school, why he’d barely needed any tryout to get into the team. A few people had already heard of him. He was a good player. He didn’t play in defense when he played with Yuuko and Taseshi in the park. He played in front, driving the goals home one by one…

Because he could.

He was a good player.

The ball travelled lazily over the pitch, moving back then forward, and forward then back - the Misfit’s were smiling, enjoying the easy play. The Dodger’s looked like they had all but given up.

Yuri Plisetsky laughed a few paces away from Yuuri, sound strumming on his nerves. It was just a game to them, he thought, irritation washing through him and prickling underneath his skin. To them, it was nothing important.

It was important to Yuuri though, to his team. 

They could do better than this.

Yuuri was thrumming with energy, feeling Victor’s eyes watching him from the sidelines, the irritation spiking the more the Misfit’s just didn’t even bother trying against the Dodger’s, like they weren’t worth it. They were getting sloppy, Yuuri realised, watching more and more gaps open up between their passes. None of his team went for them, nobody even bothering to try.

_ You have to do the opposite of what people expect, Yuuri. _

Yuri Plisetsky wasn’t even looking out for Yuuri anymore as he waited for an easy pass from Christophe, ball trickling over the grass with a clear, open path…

Yuuri ran.

“Hey! Wha-”

Yuuri barely heard Plisetsky behind him, catching the ball with the inside of his boot and running, eyes glancing up at the goal through the weaving bodies ahead, blue and purple alike. He needed an open blue, just one-

Something jabbed hard at the back of his knee.

The world span.

Air punched out of his lungs as pain flared through the back of his leg and his muscles gave out, collapsing in the space of a second while the rest of his body still travelled forward fast. Green rushed up to meet him, arms shooting over his head. There was no time to think. There was just a blur of colour and a burning sensation scoring up his thigh as he crashed down, skidding along the ground.

Vaguely, he heard a whistle.

It all stopped way too quickly. It was like his body stopped and his mind slammed back in place a heartbeat later, knocking back into his skull with a jolt of pain.

Then, everything hurt. 

His gasps for air burned in his chest, flinching away from the striped black shadow shrouding his still swaying vision.  _ The referee.  _ Yuuri just tried to breath, catching the flash of green scored down his thigh, feeling the sharp stabs of pain in the back of his knee… what had happened?

Faces swam over the refs shoulder, blue and purple alike looming closer while voices blurred in his ears. He couldn’t make out what any of them were saying.

Yuuri just blinked.

There was a ringing in his ears that he couldn’t shake - and only got worse as he pushed himself up on his elbows, wincing as he pushed on his leg. His hand reached down, fingers curling round the back of his knee. They came back pinpricked red. 

_ Blood _ . 

He frowned down at his fingertips.

“-you okay, son? Think you can play on?”

Yuuri glanced up - the ref’s mouth moved, half a beat ahead of the words finally floating through to his brain. 

Finally, everything started to click.

He’d been kicked, he realised, eyes blinking wide as it sank in. He’d been fouled. Who? There were too many wary eyes over purple shirts to know for sure, all of them looking equally guilty for one reason or another. 

Yuuri’s knees were shaking as someone helped him to his feet, working the strength back into his legs. He heard the call of a yellow card. He didn’t hear who it went to.

He’d never been fouled like that before. 

The back of his leg stung but it wasn’t unbearable, testing some feeling back into the limb. He could play. He could keep going. He nodded numbly to the ref, wandering back up the pitch to his starting position.

A penalty was called.

Yuuri was still rolling over what had happened in his head as his team lined up across the pitch, getting in position as Minami - their budding striker - stepped up for the shot.

The Misfit’s had fouled him. They’d stopped him - a botched tackle, an intentional move - whatever. Someone had stopped him. Very deliberately stopped him. Yuuri thought, and thought, hanging back by his own goal with Phichit a few paces behind him, gathering his tumbling thoughts. They’d stopped him - so he must have been onto something, Yuuri rationalised in his head, something they didn’t like. They’d stopped his challenge, because it had been a real challenge. 

_ Interesting.... _

Across the pitch, the ball launched at the goal, swinging towards the bottom right corner of the Misfit’s net … right into Otabek Altin’s all but waiting hands.

The Dodger’s groaned.

Yuuri’s jaw dropped open.

They’d missed a penalty. A  _ penalty!  _ Yuuri could tell how red Minami’s face was all the way across the pitch, nearly the same shade as the streak in his hair. It had been their one shot…

To think they might lose the match so dreadfully was a real blow to his pride. What did he have to show for all his work, for how much he loved the sport? Three goals against him and a failed penalty on their roster now too, team too disheartened to even put up much of a fight in their play anymore. 

Heads hung and legs dragged as blue players got back into position and the ball kicked off, shuffled from player to player with the same pointless passing as before. Yuuri just watched with a turning mind.

They had to do something. They couldn’t just roll over like this without showing the Misfit’s what they were made of-

A whistle blew.

_ A substitution. _

Yuuri looked out of curiosity more than anything else, expecting to see some other perfect physiqued Russian at the sidelines ready to replace one of the others and claim some of the glory for himself, full of energy to grind the Dodger’s humiliation even fresher with one more finishing goal against the home team.

He didn’t expect to see Victor at the sidelines rolling his head from side to side, shaking out his legs and shrugging his shoulders. His eyes flashed over to Yuuri’s.

Yuuri’s heart skipped a beat.

_ Okay,  _ Yuuri thought, fists curling instinctively at his sides as Victor ran onto the pitch in his gorgeous pink-purple kit - now, it was personal.

Determination ran thick and fast through Yuuri’s bloodstream as he moved up the pitch, catching Victor’s eye. The Russian held back a fraction, lingering in the Misfit’s safe side of the pitch a moment longer than Yuuri would have expected of a striker. He didn’t look away, holding Victor’s gaze.

Victor nodded.

Yuuri’s head jerked back.

They had barely fifteen minutes left in the match. Everyone thought it was over. The Dodger’s carried themselves over the pitch like it was, some of their fans already trickling out of the stands, admitting their defeat. 

It just made Yuuri’s blood burn all the hotter with irritation though. They weren’t beaten yet -  _ he _ wasn’t beaten yet.

The ball easily found its way to Victor.

Yuuri watched his every move as the Russian caught it effortlessly from his teammate and moved up the pitch with it - towards Yuuri - eyes guarded and dark as they met Yuuri’s gaze. An apology looked to be burning on the surface - sorry, yet not sorry. It wasn’t personal. Victor just had to do it.

Yuuri stepped forward, fists clenched and legs braced, waiting for Victor to get closer. His body hummed with adrenaline.

Yuuri just had to do it too.

He didn’t dare hesitate as his step forward turned into a run, hurtling towards Victor so fast his feet felt like they were barely touching the ground. He was more flying than running. Victor never took his eyes off him, narrowing with suspicion. Yuuri didn’t stop - couldn’t stop! He needed to be fast, to be nimble, and quick, eyes watching the ball dribbling close to Victor’s boots.

Victor swerved - right at the last moment, body tensing protectively as he anticipated Yuuri’s to be caught off guard, to trip.

Yuuri darted on light feet, mirroring Victor with steps a fraction faster than the Russian.

Victor’s eyes flashed wide with surprise-

It was too late.

Yuuri’s foot darted out, nipping between Victor’s legs a hair's breadth away from his ankles. He could all but hear the Russian’s breathcatch, waiting for the impact.

It never came.

Yuuri’s foot touched the ball - and stopped it dead between Victor’s legs.

Victor couldn’t stop with it though. Yuuri’s leg darted out from between his almost as fast as it had dipped in, weaving to the side to avoid Victor’s stumbling body as he realised what had happened, ball still on the pitch behind him where Yuuri had poked it out of his control. It was over in less than a second, in the flash of an eye.

Yuuri didn’t even see the flash of silver of Victor’s head turning back before he was running, picking up the ball and heart hammering in time with the screams from the Dodger’s fans.

He’d done it - he’d stole the ball off Victor Nikiforov.

He ran with it.

His legs flew over the pitch. He was nothing but a blur of instinct as he bolted, dodging pink and purple like his life depended on it, slave to the mad thump of the ball and the harsh rasp of his breath. He didn’t dare slow down. He didn’t dare stop. His mind stayed blank and empty, not trusting his thoughts to keep up with his body while he was this close. Damn, he was so close…

He blazed along the outer edge of the pitch, player after player dropping away out of the corner of his eye. The Misfit’s goal loomed closer, rushing up to greet him with Otabek Altin bracing  himself.

Could Yuuri make it that far? To actually score a goal against the Misfits? He must be closer than he thought…

Yuuri’s head jerked, eyes scanning out for a dot of blue. The Misfit’s corner was coming up fast if he kept running and that wouldn’t get the ball anywhere near the goal – not with all the defenders rushing in to block him by the corner post. He had to lose the ball, get it out in the open.

The waving arms of a blue shirt with red and yellow caught his eye – Minami. Yuuri didn’t have the time to think.

His leg drew back – and he kicked.

It slipped under the legs of a purple shirted defender, a white blur against the green grass as it launched towards Minami, Yuuri’s heart in his mouth. He couldn’t look away – yet he hardly dared watch!

Minami’s boot moved back, bracing for the ball –  _ too far, _ Yuuri thought with a flash of alarm. His leg was too far back. He’d never catch it from that far back and keep control.  _ Never… _

He didn’t.

He just booted the ball in a volley towards the goal instead.

The kick was timed perfectly. The moment it was within the young striker’s reach, it was hurtling towards Otabek Altin – a blink, and one would have missed it!

Otabek Altin blinked.

Yuuri’s world went silent as the back of the net crumpled, ears ringing with shock and knees going weak mid-stride.

His legs gave out beneath him before Otabek had even finished turning his head. Pain vaguely registered in Yuuri’s mind as his knees skidded on the grass but it was drowned out with adrenaline – with elation! – feeling his lips part around a scream of triumph that he could see his other teammates cheering as well. Tears pricked in the corner of his eyes, rib cage too tight around his heart.

They’d done it.

They’d  _ actually _ done it.

Altin’s eyes were still wide with shock as they turned back round to his team on the pitch, crease in his brow betraying the thoughts buzzing behind his gaze. He hadn’t stood a chance. He hadn’t even seen it coming…

He wasn’t the only Misfit baffled - Yuuri’s heart skipped a beat with delight as he caught Victor staring with a slack jaw back at the midfield line, stood stock still on the pitch. It sent a bolt of pride rippling through him, tingling his skin and lifting the fine hairs on his arms. Surprise suited Victor, Yuuri couldn’t help but think, brimming with pride. He wanted to see it more often. He wanted to see it every day…

He was numb to his team mates all but throwing themselves at him, hands ruffling in his hair, arms lifting him up onto shoulders, and overjoyed screaming in his ears, a breathless smile slapped on his face and eyes locked on Victor all the while.

The Russian just stared back.

Yuuri watched with hypnotised delight as the pretty little ‘o’ of Victor’s mouth slowly stretched out into a smile, not sure if it was just his wishful thinking or if Victor’s eyes really were sparkling.

He didn’t really care – he’d just assisted in a goal!

Was that what Victor had had in mind when he’d encouraged Yuuri earlier? Yuuri couldn’t help but wonder, feeling his smile burn into a full blown beam, so wide that it ached his cheeks as he stumbled on his feet, knees still weak and legs jelly-like. His body was running on adrenaline at that point – nothing more.

Victor had wanted Yuuri’s best - and it had ended up with a goal against his own team, just five minutes before the whistle, no less! It wasn’t enough to win, but it was enough.

For Yuuri, at least.

He’d proven himself.

Dodger’s heads held high with bright smiles when the final whistle blew and their side of the stands exploded with noise, rivalling the Misfit fans. Three-one wasn’t a bad score to finish on against the state’s best college team, and the Dodger’s knew it.

Yuuri knew it, pride still simmering in his chest as he crossed the pitch over to Victor, basking in the smile the Russian beamed his way. He looked proud too.

The thought made tears bubble in the corner of Yuuri’s eyes, swallowing down the lump in his throat. For so long he’d looked up to Victor, idolised him, dreamed of him… and now his dream had come true, playing on the same pitch as the soccer legend, playing his absolute best. And – against Victor, at least – it had won.

“Congratulations, Yuuri,” Victor purred, grin too mindlessly bright for the silky tone of his voice to really take effect. Yuuri didn’t mind. “I knew you could do it.”

Yuuri took Victor’s hand, shaking it firmly.

He didn’t pull away after that though, squeezing around Victor’s fingers as he blinked fast, battling the emotions rising to the surface too hard and too fast to properly process.

Now that he’d stopped, everything was hitting him. The emotional exhaustion of the first half, the physical exhaustion of the second, mind and body tired, with the flared remnants of adrenalin fizzling out in Yuuri’s system and leaving nothing but a bone deep ache in its wake that hummed with satisfaction. He was too aware of his fast heartbeat in his chest, too tired to do anything but for his brain to together only the most basic synapses.

“So…” Victor went on, squeezing back. “About that coffee…”

Yuuri glanced up from their fingers, taking half a gaping second too long to process what Victor had said.

“How about now?” he heard himself say.

He blinked his vision clear just in time – just at the right moment to see Victor’s eyes flutter wide in surprise, glittering gorgeously like the clearest crystal. It was a beautiful sight, air hissing quietly through Victor’s lips and rustling his newly shortened bangs.

The Russian sounded breathless, swallowing hard. “Now?”

Yuuri just nodded, never surer of anything in his life.

He twisted his wrist and let Victor’s fingers fall out of his, arm dropping back down to his side… only to snag Victor’s nearest hand along the way, curling their fingers together.

Yuuri squeezed gently, sentiment glowing in his round brown eyes.

“Now.”

 

* * *

 

_**yuuri_kat** added 1 new photo. _

_ [image] _

_ Treating the new bf @(victor’s handle) #bfgoals <3 <3 _

_ Liked by  **christophe-gc** and 230 others _

_ 3 minutes ago _

 

* * *

Phichit stared down at the Instagram post on his phone with tears in his eyes, beaming at the selfie stretching along Yuuri’s outstretched arm that caught the perfect glow of his round, rosy cheeks – which Victor was pressing a chaste kiss too, coffee all but forgotten on the table in front of them.

He glanced down the locker room bench, catching Leo’s eye and fluttering his hand over his face with excitement. “I’m so proud!!”

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed this little football au. You have no idea how many times I had to scan through this and replace the word football with soccer!! Trying to be accommodating to the Americans (who, let’s face it, are the majority of readers).


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